


The Gathering Storm

by Cerdic519



Series: Elizabethan Serenade [3]
Category: Elizabeth (Movies), Supernatural, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Assassination, Beheading, Boats and Ships, Captivity, Chicanery, Cock Rings, Dean is So Whipped, Destiel - Freeform, England (Country), F/M, Harnesses, Letters, London, M/M, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Murder, Omega Castiel, Plots, Politics, Potatoes, Potions, Pregnancy, Religion, Romance, Spanish Armada, Spies & Secret Agents, Stuarts, Teasing, Tudors - Freeform, stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: The final part of my Elizabethan Destiel, covering the two major events of the late eighties – the fate of both a contrary Scots ex-queen and the attack by the Spanish Armada. The idjits have sons in at both; Scaden and Jensen are well-bred young fellows who often write home to their master Castiel. And to that alpha who for some strange inexplicable reason thinks that he runs the house.... what's his name again?





	1. The 'Joys' Of Children (1584)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abaven/gifts), [Chiefraz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiefraz/gifts), [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is very persuasive, whilst his and Dean's sons write them letters that... well, a certain alpha does not pout, whatever anyone says! An Orange prince gets himself assassinated, and after inveigling herself into yet another plot against her unwilling hostess, the contrary Mary Stuart is moved somewhere safer. Meanwhile Jensen Winchester is all at sea.

**MDLXXXIV**  
**I January**  
**Winchester House, London (England)**

Lord Dean Winchester – a real lord now, complete with his own Coat of Arms approved by the Garter King himself – strode cheerfully along to meet his superior William Cecil. It was a bright new day at the start of a bright new year, and the previous night he and his omega mate Castiel had seen in 1584 with.... well, virtually his entire family had given him dirty looks this morning and he had so enjoyed smirking at them, even if he was still a little sore in certain areas. Everything was great.

“We have a problem.”

And with just four words, Cecil ended his good day.

“What is it?” Dean sighed. 

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary” (1), Cecil said. “It concerns Mr. Francis Throckmorton.”

“That is a familiar name”, Dean observed.

“Nephew to the departed Sir Nicholas”, Cecil said. “Francis is cut from a very different cloth, unfortunately. He has been working with the Spanish ambassador in a plot to free the Scottish Pest, which would have included an invasion by Henry of Guise (2).”

“I would have thought he had enough problems on his plate at home”, Dean said. King Charles IX had died heirless ten years ago, and now only his brother King Henry III stood between the possible succession of their cousin and brother-in-law Henry of Navarre. The French king had been married for some eight years by the time but he and his wife had had no children - and his successor was a Protestant.

“Apparently not”, Cecil said. “Fortunately the Queen has always loathed Menendez, so she will be delighted to have a reason for declaring him _persona non grata_. And now Sir Ralph Sadler is petitioning for the Scottish Pest to be taken off his hands and dumped on someone else.”

Dean could empathize with that request. Mary Stuart had stayed at the various houses of George Earl of Shrewsbury for over a decade now, and had in that time managed to drive a wedge between him and his wife Bess. Not that there was any love lost from the Queen over that – she distrusted powerful women on principle – and to be fair she had tried to effect a reconciliation between the couple, albeit unsuccessfully. Now the earl's poor deputy had been landed with the dratted woman, which at his age was a bit unfair.

“I am looking around for someone else”, Cecil told him, “but in the meantime I am posting a new spy on her household to keep a tighter watch on things. Someone young, whom she will be less inclined to distrust especially as they have one Catholic parent.”

“Who?” Dean asked.

Cecil smiled, and coughed. The door across from him opened, and Dean's lip dropped when his eldest son walked through it.

“Hullo, Father!” Scaden said.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**V May**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

Dean had, of course, put his foot down about exposing his son and heir to such danger. No way was he going to allow that sort of thing as the master of the house. Absolutely no way!

Castiel coughed from his chair across the room, and Dean blushed. Oh yes, the (ahem!) 'persuasion'. Well, his mate had been very persuasive. He had even let Dean off reading his mother's latest story, although he had mentioned that it did involve the irregular use of kitchen utensils. And no, that did not let Dean out of cooking in the future!

The alpha unfurled his latest letter from Staffordshire, still smiling:

_'Dear Papa (and the other one)'_

That got rid of the smile. Cheeky brat!

_'I have settled into life here at Tutbury, and I can truly say that whoever said that castle living was grand never had to try it. Seriously this place is freezing! I read once that the Romans invented some sort of under-floor heating when they once ruled this island; we could do with them coming back and showing us how to install it._

_Mary Stuart is very much what you might expect, a forty-something princess bored out of her mind. I understand that Sir Ralph has been instructed not to be so lenient with her, after the Queen received reports of her cousin enjoying taking the waters at Matlock. I am sure that her letters in and out are all read, so there is no way she can communicate with those wishing to free her, but I still think she will be trying something sooner rather than later. Her advancing age, one of her servants told me, makes her feel that she has little to lose any more._

_I hope you and Father are well, and that my brothers and sister are supplied with enough ear-plugs!_

_Your loving son_

__Scaden'._ _

_Soon to be ex-son, Dean thought crossly. Wait till you get home, and...._

_Across the room, Castiel was shaking his head for some reason._

__

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXXI June**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa (and, I suppose, Father),_

_Stop pouting, Father.'_

Dean huffed as he read his shortly to be disinherited son's latest letter.

_'An important development has occurred, and although I have of course sent to Lord Cecil in code as we arranged, I am also informing you (he is all right with this). Mary Stuart is devastated. Not, as you might think, over the belated execution of that traitor Francis Throckmorton, who has met the gruesome death that he fully deserved. No, she has received a letter from her son – and King James has made it quite clear that he wants nothing to do with her!_

_It was of course folly on her part to have expected otherwise – we can all see that he is angling as she once did to be acknowledged, one way or another, as Great Elizabeth's heir – but I suppose that in her situation she had to cling to even the faintest hope. Now that the Throckmorton Plot is done and her son has abandoned her to her fate, she has no hope at all. I am even more of the opinion that she will do something desperate, and I am sure that that is what Cecil wants. Which brings me neatly to Sir Amyas Paulet._

_Sir Amyas is, albeit on a smaller scale than the Earl of Shrewsbury, the owner of several fair-sized properties all of which are some way inland, and as such Cecil has deemed him suitable to take on the charge of housing Mary Stuart. The man is a committed Puritan and will doubtless make her life as uncomfortable as possible. Sir Ralph tells me he has gone to Chartley (4), a moated house some little way west of here, which he is considering for her captivity. The only problem would be getting her there, as she would have to pass through the busy little town of Uttoxeter._

_My regards to you all, and I hope papa lets you read this letter._

_Your loving son,_

_Scaden.'_

“What son?” Dean muttered mulishly.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XII July**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

 _”Now_ we have a problem.”

Dean looked at his superior in surprise.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“William of Orange has been assassinated”, Cecil said grimly. “By a Catholic fanatic. And he had the same papal death sentence hanging over him as our Queen.”

That was very bad, Dean knew. Not just for the Dutch, for whom the taciturn prince had proven a surprisingly effective leader in their rebellion against their distant Iberian rulers, but for England. There had already been several attempts by Catholics to get at the Queen, and she had been forced as a result to limit her progresses around the country, much to her annoyance.

“I shall be glad when the Scottish Pest is safely behind the moat and walls at Chartley”, Cecil sighed. “And this means that shall have trouble with parliament; they will demand even more vengeance against the Catholics.”

“That can hardly be prevented”, Dean said equably. “Um, Scaden?”

“He has asked to go with her into Chartley”, Cecil said. “As she knows that he has a Catholic papa he has some standing with her, and we can use that to our advantage.”

Dean was silent. He did not like his son being put into danger, but the boy was eighteen now and of an age where he must start making his own way in life.

“Although talking of your offspring”, Cecil said casually, “your second son approached me yesterday.”

Dean was surprised.

“Jen?” he asked. “Why?”

“He wishes to go to sea”, Cecil said, “and his papa is accepting of the idea. He asked if there were any positions coming up, especially aboard the ship of his hero Francis Drake.”

Dean was not so sure about that. Drake was the man of the moment after his three-year circumnavigation of the earth that had ended in his triumphant return four years back. The Spanish ambassador, whose nation's wealth had largely filled Drake's ship, had demanded immediate action, so the Queen had promptly knighted the young rapscallion. 

“I had to say yes”, Cecil sighed, “because otherwise he would get his papa to come and give me one of those Looks of his. You have my sympathy, Dean, living with that!”

Hah! It was not just Dean who was totally whi... damnation!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XX October**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa (and that alpha you put up with),'_

_Two_ sons to disinherit, Dean thought crossly. And some mind-reading omega could stop tutting at him like that!

 _'I am sending you this from Plymouth, as I know you will want to know how I am settling in to life on board the_ Revenge _. The journey from London was uneventful, and I have not even been seasick yet. I am grateful that Drake, for all his roughness, was kind enough to advise me to spend that month working on ships in harbour to help get my 'sea legs', and also to undertake those short trips down to Chatham._

 _We are sailing to the Azores to cause mischief in those outlying islands, which King Philip gained control of when he so foully seized the lands of Portugal (5) four years back. Many Spanish ships divert there on the long crossing of the Atlantic to replenish their fresh water supplies, and Drake knows several useful bays around the smaller and uninhabited islands that we can use as temporary bases from which to enrich the Queen's Treasury. I can see why the Spaniards call him_ El Draco _, the dragon. He is very rough, but there is a strength of character which makes his men want to follow him into the fire time and time again. I do not wonder that he is so feared by his enemies._

_They were hanging another Jesuit priest in Plymouth when we stopped there to re-provision. The mood of the people is very angry just now, what with the gloating amongst Catholic countries over the murder of poor William of Orange. If the likes of King Philip think such a thing will deter Protestants from fighting the good fight against them, then they are very much mistaken as we are about to help them find out._

_My love to you and the family - even to that alpha you keep around for some strange reason._

_Jensen'_

“Children!” Dean muttered crossly. “Why did we have so many?”

“Because some alphas are insatiable!” came a gravelled growl from nearby. “Bedtime, Dean.”

“But Cas, it's only....”

He stopped. He knew that look.... Lord help him!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

The Lord did not. And Dean was glad! 

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

Notes:  
1) The nursery rhyme does indeed refer to Mary Stuart, although it originates later in history. Her contrariness is well established; she was indeed fond of gardening, and when she married her first husband, her wedding-dress had silver bells and cockle shells on it (the symbols of Scotland and France).  
2) A member of the powerful Guise family in France and Mary Stuart's uncle by marriage. Known as Scarface (!), he was a fervent Catholic. A leading contender for the French throne, his ambition would lead to King Henry III having him assassinated some four years later. And the king's own assassination the year after that.  
3) Ralph Sadler (b. 1507), then probably the richest commoner in England. In his late seventies, so very old for the times.  
4) Chartley Manor, a moated manor house built at the start of the century from the ruins of Chartley Castle. It was destroyed by fire in 1781; a modern farmhouse has since assumed the name but has no connection to it.  
5) Philip inherited the throne of Spain's only serious rival as a world power, neighbouring Portugal, when the last ruler there died in 1580 without an heir (he had used some political machinations to make that happen). He had to agree to rule the country separately from Spain, but with their lands in Brazil, Africa and the Indian Ocean, it made him arguably the most powerful man in the world. 


	2. Batata (1585)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows that there are many advantages to having children, and he would really like to know what some of them are. Fortunately he is not the only Winchester who is totally whi... way inclined to show respect for other peoples' feelings, even if certain other people with blue eyes and impossible hair smirk far too much! Meanwhile there is a public execution, a chain of fire and a horrifying potential change of diet.

**MDLXXXV**   
**VI January**   
**Winchester House, London (England)**

Almost predictably it was Demetrius, the louder (by far) of the twins, who made a fuss.

“What _is_ this?” he demanded, poking at the strange object on his plate.

His twin brother Cassius was (again, predictably) already tucking in.

“It tastes very nice, papa”, he said politely. “Is it something new?”

“It is a vegetable that Sir Walter Raleigh, who was knighted today, has brought back from the Americas”, Castiel told them, forking more of the strange objects onto the other plates. “Do not pull that face, Dean!”

Certain children who were not getting Christmas presents this year sniggered at how whipped their father was.

“They call it the _batata_ , but Sir Walter says potato”, Castiel went on, looking pointedly at his mate. “A very strange plant; the fruits in this case appear in the roots rather than above ground.”

“Ugh!” Demetrius protested. “Hey!”

His twin had just purloined one of the strange new vegetables from his plate.

“Raleigh says they are incredibly hardy things, and will grow almost anywhere”, Castiel said. “When you think of the number of poor harvests we have in this country, such a thing would be wonderful. The Queen has given her blessing to them, so that should encourage people to try them. What do you think, beloved?”

Dean was still pushing his own potatoes around the plate.

“Next thing we shall be having nothing but vegetables!” he grumbled. “Just like Sammy!”

“A most interesting idea”, Castiel said thoughtfully. “I had not thought of that.”

The children fell about laughing at the look of abject horror on their father's face. Dean scowled at them all.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**II March**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“No.”

Demetrius Winchester sighed, but accepted his papa's decision.

“And stop pouting”, Castiel added. “You and Tambo should both know better; I shall be having Words with Alfie about his son's behaviour.”

“We only wanted to go out for a walk”, Demetrius scowled. “We are both twelve, papa, even if he is an alpha and I am an omega.”

Castiel fixed him with a look. Across the room, Dean shuddered.

“Do not think I do not know where this 'walk' would have taken you”, the omega said. “That fool William Parrie (1) is being executed today for his foolish plot against the Queen, and you wished to go and see it.” 

His youngest son hung his head in shame.

“He was an idiot to think that being a member of parliament would save him”, Dean observed. “They all knew better than to cross the Queen when she was in one of her Moods, and expelled him so he could hang.”

“Demmy can be as moody as the Queen at times”, Quintus grinned slyly. 

“I know”, Dean said. “That is omegas for you....”

The silence in the room was suddenly deafening. Castiel rose slowly to his feet.

“Dean”, he growled. “Bedroom. _Now!”_

The alpha looked set to protest, but instead trudged his way slowly to the bedroom, looking every inch the condemned man. Rosemary fairly sprinted over to where they kept the ear-plugs.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XV April**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

“The Pope is dead.”

Dean looked at his boss in surprise.

“That would be Gregory the.... fourteenth?” he asked.

“Thirteenth”, Cecil corrected. “He introduced that new calendar (2) two years back, at least in his bosom friend King Philip's vast realms.”

“Why do we need a new calendar?” Dean wondered.

“The old one is inaccurate”, Cecil said. “He skipped some ten days to transition to his – well, his mathematicians' – new one, which has brought Catholic Europe back in line with the seasons. We shall have to follow suit some day.”

“Why not now?” Dean asked.

“Because the Pope is about as popular as the Devil himself in the Protestant realms”, Cecil explained, “and any invention of his is bound to be suspect. No, we shall just have to put up with the seasons seemingly changing earlier than expected for many a year, until religion is less of a divisive factor that it is now.”

“Or when Hell freezes over!” Dean said.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**III June**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa (and some other personage at that abode),'_

Someone, Dean thought, was in for a hiding when he got home!

“No, Dean”, Castiel muttered from where he was reading across the room. His mate settled for a pout.

_'I have just arrived safely back in Plymouth, so am taking this chance to write to you to let you know how things are. We shall be spending the next month preying on Spanish ships heading to the Netherlands, so I shall not be home for some time yet, but all is well and I am enjoying life at sea. Much better than Father would, I am sure; we all know how he got seasick when he took a boat across the Thames.'_

That had been _one_ time, damnation, Dean thought crossly. Honestly, had he no respect from the family that he was the master of?

Rosemary coughed from behind her knitting, for some reason. Dean looked at her suspiciously, but read on.

_'We have learnt that Philip of Spain has finally tired of our privateering, and seized all English ships in his ports last month. More fool him; that fully justifies us in taking any prize we can in the Narrow Seas (3), and cutting off his supplies to his hard-pressed men in the Netherlands. I was also told that the late William of Orange's son Maurice is proving to be as formidable a leader as his father, despite his being only sixteen years of age. But then, the young are the future.'_

You may not _have_ a future if you do not treat your father with more respect, Dean thought crossly. And certain family members across the room could stop smiling like that!

_'I had a rare moment of stupidity as we were coming into Plymouth, asking one of the sailors why they had erected a gallows on the high cliffs south of the city. He looked at me as if I were mad, then explained that it was part of the beacon system. There is a whole chain of the things along the south coast, and if an approaching (Spanish) enemy is sighted, a warning can be flashed to London in hours. Is not technology wonderful?_

_Your sailor son,_

_Jensen'._

“Children!” Dean muttered.

“Alphas who faint during the births of said children!” Castiel muttered back.

Dean huffed.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXIX August**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“Do you not think it a good idea?” Dean asked, surprised. “I would have thought most European nations would be striving to get a piece of that particular pie before anyone else.”

Castiel suppressed a smile at the pastry analogy.

“I think that this province of Virginia may eventually be a success”, he admitted, “but England will need to be much stronger to nurture it through its difficult early years. Mainland North America cannot be used to grow the rich sugar crops of the West Indies, and the tribes there will surely be larger and stronger. I suppose that there is this new tobacco plant that some people are talking about, but I do not know if that will ever catch on.”

“It is wrong to take those peoples' lands”, Quintus said roundly.

“It is”, Castiel admitted, “but sooner rather than later some European power will do that, and whoever does may grow stronger as a result. Besides, if you take your argument back further in time, would you refuse to invade the rich lands of a neighbouring valley to feed your starving fellow cavemen 'to protect the rights of the people there'? I think your fellow tribesmen would have lynched you for such a decision.”

Quintus scowled, and Dean suppressed a smile as their son tried to work out a gap in his papa's argument. Boy had no chance!

“I was a little surprised that the Queen refused the Dutch offer to be their new ruler”, Rosemary said. “But I am sure she is right; the Dutch would be far more likely to rally round their own Prince Maurice against the Spaniards.”

“And what you know about politics?” Quintus snapped crossly. “You're only a gi.....”

He stopped, belatedly aware of the heavy look his papa was giving him. And the fact that his father had just crossed himself.

“I am going out!” Quintus said quickly. “Goodbye!”

He fled the room. Dean did not snigger at how whipped his son was, but he still got a suspicious look from a certain omega anyway. Harrumph!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**VI November**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dearest Papa (and thingy),'_

Dean wondered if after Staffordshire, he could get Lord Cecil to send Scaden on a mission to Muscovy. Across the room, Castiel coughed from behind his book. The alpha huffed, and returned to his ungrateful and annoying eldest son's letter.

_'We are now settled into life here at Chartley, and I have to say that it has been well chosen for Mary Stuart's captivity. She grumbles constantly about the restrictions placed on her, but Sir Amyas will not yield a jot. I might think that he gets some enjoyment out of her complaints, but I do not think he knows what smiling is, so I cannot tell._

_The lady was extremely down earlier this month, as she had learnt that her son and her cousin were in friendly converse, which of course lessens the already remote chance that he will do anything to help her. I am sure, as I believe are many, that King James believes he will be King of England when our Queen finally moves on to sort out Heaven (let us all pray that that day is far ahead of us), but I can only hope that he is wise enough not to press the matter too far. We all know that one does not mention the succession around Her Majesty unless one has good running shoes!_

_I am sure that Lord Cecil is plotting something, as the captive grows ever more restive at her increasing confinement. And in her annoyance, she may act rashly. We can but hope; her continued presence in England is a danger to our Queen._

_Thank you for the money that Father sent; it was good of you to let him._

_Your beloved (but possibly not by Father) son, Scaden'._

Damn right not by me, Dean thought.

He just knew someone was shaking their head at him just then. Damnation!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

Notes:  
1) A Welsh courtier, who was in and out of financial trouble for much of his life.   
2) The Gregorian Calendar adds an extra set of rules concerning leap years to the older Julian one, in that those years divisible by 4 and 100 are not leap years, unless they are also divisible by 400 (so 1900 was not a leap year, 2000 was and 2100 will not be). This makes it so accurate that only the odd leap second needs to be added every few years. In Great Britain the change was finally effected in 1752 when Wednesday 2nd September was followed by Thursday 14th September, leading to some protests about those 'stolen' eleven days!  
3) The English Channel. 


	3. Roll Out The Barrel (1586)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Stuart entangles herself into one plot too many, albeit with the 'assistance' of her lifelong enemy Lord Cecil, and the stage is set for her trial and possible execution. One Winchester actually refuses pie (gasp!) whilst another is allowed to have rather too much, and there is a deal that is more than it appears.

**MDLXXXVI**   
**IV February**   
**Winchester House, London (England)**

Rosemary Winchester shook her head at her papa as her father snored contentedly from the settee.

“You really are bad, you know”, she said. “Everyone knows you keep your poor alpha totally whipped.”

“Provided they do not remark on the fact in his presence, that is fine”, Castiel said. “What, pray, have I done to cross some unwritten social line, daughter?”

“You let him have three slices of pie, and only them told him that his mother was seeing that beta Mr. Devereux”, she said. “You knew he would not be in much of a mood to object when he was so full. He is always more amenable after pie.”

Castiel smiled.

“Well, perhaps you should be grateful?” he suggested.

“Pardon?”

“I have certain other ways of making Dean more amenable....”

“Papa! Really!”

“And when you have an alpha or beta of your own to control some day, you will understand what they are”, Castiel said easily. “Unless you would like me to go into more detail?”

She gave him such a look!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XX April**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa (and your totally not whipped alpha),'_

Dean wondered idly if he could move the whole family to Muscovy whilst Scaden was up North, so the brat could come back to an empty... damnation, some mind-reading omega was giving him that Look again!

_'A Most Curious Development has occurred in my time here. I have told you how Sir Amyas Paulet is so strict with his charge; well, he seems to have had a slight change of heart, for the other day she was allowed a visitor. I am not sure what to make of Master Gilbert Gifford, who is (he claims) a former page of Lord Bothwell and attended at his marriage. In truth he makes me feel quite uncomfortable; I do not mind people being Greekles (1) but he still looked at me in the sort of way which would have made Father very cross. Mr. Gifford is about twenty-five years of age, and quite why Sir Amyas let him through his usually tight guard (and even left them alone together) is a mystery. Also, one of Mary Stuart's servants told me afterwards that she had been 'much cheered' by his visit, which also worries me. I have communicated my concerns to Lord Cecil, of course._

_It is raining for the twelfth day in a row, and I am bored. Being a Puritan, Sir Amyas does not approve of frivolities like games, and even scowls if he catches his servants playing cards of an evening. I can empathize with the Queen over her dislike of these Puritans; Lord help us all if her successors are not up to keeping them in their place._

_Your loving son (even to that poor alpha of yours),_

_Scaden'._

Dean did not put at that.

“Stop pouting, Dean.”

The alpha just gave up!

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXI April**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

William Cecil smiled at Dean's news.

“It was good of you to keep me informed”, he said. “Good, but unnecessary. Gifford is one of my agents.”

Dean was not surprised. The Lord Treasurer hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

“What I about to tell you goes no further than your mate, Dean.”

“You would let me tell Cas?” Dean asked, surprised.

The look on his employer's face said quite clearly that there was no way a certain omega would not extract the information regardless, but fortunately he did not say that out loud. Which was almost as bad.

“Walsingham (2) and I have decided that the time has come to remove the Scottish Pest”, he said. “Gifford is part of a trap to encourage her to inveigle herself in one final plot against our Queen. One in which, when it is discovered and laid bare to the world, her guilt will be beyond doubt.”

Dean nodded.

“He has arranged for a channel of communication to be opened between the woman and her supporters”, Cecil continued, “most notably the French Embassy here in London. Messages from them are to be smuggled into her in sealed scrolls, which will be hidden in the cloth stops atop the beer barrels delivered to Chartley for her use. (3) A servant of hers will extract them, and she will read them and then reply. The brewer will collect her reply with the empty barrels, and it will then be brought here for decoding before being passed onto the French embassy. Once she says enough to incriminate herself we shall expose the plot and, with luck, the Queen will have to sign her death warrant.”

“She will not like that”, Dean said at once, thinking back to his employer's troubles after the execution of the Duke of Norfolk.

“True”, Cecil agreed, “but as I have said on more than one occasion, her great strength is that she can often force herself to do things for England that she does not wish to do. We shall have to be very sure before we move, so....”

Dean suddenly got it.

“You are risking her life”, he said softly. “She is the bait. And she is accepting of this?”

“She does not like it”, Cecil agreed, “but as I said, 'for England'.”

“For England”, Dean echoed.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XVII July**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

“I take it that there is more to it?” Dean asked.

William Cecil nodded. 

“This latest Treaty of Berwick is, on the surface, what it appears”, he said. “Merely a statement of friendship between two Protestant countries on the same little island.”

“But?” Dean pressed.

“We all know that King James yearns desperately to become King of England one day”, Cecil said. “He is, after all, more than three decades the Queen's junior. But he is also a realist, and he knows that given her past history, she will never publicly acknowledge him as such.”

“So?”

“So, a compromise”, Cecil said. “Everything will be put in place for his swift accession when the time comes, in return for which he is to keep out of England, and promise to toe a pro-English line in his foreign policy. He has so far proven adept at surviving the dangerous world of Scots politics, although I confess that I will feel happier once he is married and has some heirs of his own. Which just leaves us his mother to deal with. And that brings me to Sir Anthony Babington.” (4)

Dean blinked at the apparent _non sequitur._

“Who is he?” he asked.

“A recusant”, Cecil said sourly. “His family is wise enough to pretend to be Protestant in public and thus avoid the heavy fines that he has attracted unto himself. He had been offered two letters from France destined for the Scottish Pest, but had declined to involve himself. Until now; Gifford has inveigled him into using his alcoholic communications system. Foolish man!”

“Have you read any of her letters yet?” Dean asked. Cecil nodded.

“One of them prompted the French to write to her”, he said. “Well, the lady shall have her French letter – and once she tells them to go and kill her cousin, we shall have her!”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXI September**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

“Cecil is not happy”, Dean told his mate as they may together that night. “Poor Sir Anthony may have had his guts ripped out of him at St. Giles' (5) today...”

“Along with thirteen of his accomplices”, Castiel put in. “It was quite disturbing that Jen and Quin both wanted to go and see it, even if they are old enough for that sort of thing.”

“You were wise to let them”, Dean said. “Their faces when they came back – they will not be so keen next time. No, the Queen is dithering over her cousin's fate. Though I think she will agree to a trial; the problem will come with the inevitable guilty verdict.”

“I know Jen was upset because he actually refused pie this evening”, Castiel smiled. “It being cherry was just one of those unfortunate coincidences.”

Dean just looked at him.

“Maybe not that much of a coincidence”, Castiel admitted. “You are sure that she will be found guilty?”

“We have her letter saying 'let the plot go forth'”, Dean said grimly, “and her previous letters show that she knew and was quite happy at the idea of the Queen being assassinated to make way for her. For all that she is so good, Elizabeth Tudor will not do anything she does not absolutely have to – we all remember how her hand had to be forced over poor Norfolk – and therein lies the rub.”

Castiel nodded, but said nothing. He counted to nine before it happened.

“That spare piece of pie that Jen didn't want.....”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXVI October**  
 **Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

“Guilty as charged”, Cecil sighed. “But the Queen will not sign the death-warrant.”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “Cousinly concern?”

His employer just looked at him. Dean blushed.

“She is concerned not just about the idea of cutting a queen's head off”, he said, “although that is, as you might expect, _not_ a practice she wishes to encourage, especially given what happened to her own mother. No, she says that removing her cousin weakens her own position as regards Philip of Spain.”

“Why?” Dean asked, confused.

“Consider”, Cecil said. “Successive Popes have made a lot of noise about the Scottish Pest being the rightful heir to the English throne. Let us say that, as we know will almost certainly happen, King Philip goes to the huge expense of raising and fitting a fleet to invade this country, and he succeeds. The Spanish king would be left with little choice but to install Mary Stuart onto the throne, a princess with a French background. Worse, her heir would still be her son, who as a British Protestant could expect much support if he pushed his case. Philip is already overstretched with this Dutch revolt; he could not handle a British one on top of it. The irony is that, for once in my life, I find myself in agreement with the King of Spain. The Scottish Pest has to die – if only we can find a way to make the Queen sign that bloody warrant!”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

Notes:  
1) Colloquial term for a man who sleeps with any alpha, beta or omega (i.e. all the Greek letters). The official term was 'multi-sub-gendered' which, for some reason, never caught on.  
2) Sir Francis Walsingham (b. 1532), who had become Secretary after Cecil's move to be Lord Treasurer in 1573. Walsingham operated a highly efficient spy network and, having been fortunate to escape the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre in France (1572) was determined along with Cecil to entrap their unwelcome Scottish guest.  
3) Mary was not an alcoholic! Water from rivers, which doubled as sewage systems, was often deadly, so most people drank beer as the brewing process made it safe.  
4) Anthony Babington (b. 1561). His grandfather had sided with the rebels in the 1536 Pilgrimage of Grace, the religious uprising against Henry VIII in the North, and had paid the price with his life. The family had thereafter wisely kept their heads down – until now.  
5) St. Giles' Fields, an open area just north of London in the then-village of Camden. 


	4. Pygmies And Pie (1587)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Stuart pays a permanent penalty for her pernicious plotting. Two politicians say what is on their minds and win a free and indefinite no-expenses-paid trip to the Tower of London (one-way only). Jensen Winchester is in the thick of it as someone's beard gets singed, whilst Rosemary Winchester has a new boyfriend who is scared by the master of the house. Meanwhile Castiel has ties and Dean has pies, so all is right with their world.

**MDLXXXVII**   
**VIII February**   
**Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

“So”, Dean said carefully. “How did you manage it at the last?”

His superior limped over to his chair, and sat down heavily.

“The Queen was _not_ happy!” he said with a sigh. “In the end and with her agreement, I slipped the warrant in amongst some general papers that needed her signature. She was fully aware of what she was doing, but of course she then had second thoughts and sent to stop it. Fortunately I had had the warrant dispatched immediately, and they received it at Fotheringay (1) last night. Mary Stuart was beheaded this morning.”

“And the Queen was, I take it, not happy?” Dean guessed. Cecil nodded.

“There is I suppose the downside that as she feared it makes a Spanish invasion more likely”, he conceded. “Indeed, King Philip will be building up his stocks and supplies the moment the news reaches him, I have no doubt. But it rids us of our unwelcome guest, and also strengthens King James' position in Scotland.”

“She still had support up there?” Dean asked, surprised.

“People's memories are, alas, short”, Cecil said with a sigh. “Remember she had much support only a year after Lord Darnley was murdered, almost certainly with her connivance. And it has been nigh on two decades since she fled her homeland. No, this is all for the best, even if I shall have to send my son Robert (2) in to bat for me for some time to come. If not permanently.”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**I March**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

Dean sighed as he read the report.

“When _will_ they learn?” he asked. “Wentworth (3) and Cope (4), idiots the pair of them!”

“Puritanism”, Cecil agreed. “It groweth like a weed, despite all our efforts. It even seems to be making headway even in the Catholic North; they say the churches are empty most of the time now. Worst of all, it thrives in parliament.”

“What is to be done?” Dean wondered.

“Bribery, threats and electoral 'arrangements'”, Cecil said. “We are just about keeping a lid on things now, although I fear for the future. King James may have survived thus far on the Scots throne, but the reports I am receiving of him suggest an inclination towards laziness. Well, it will be someone else's problem by then.”

“Your son's?” Dean asked. Cecil smiled dourly.

“The Queen is at least relieved not to see me around for a while after the, ahem, recent unpleasantness”, he said. “Though she torments the poor boy so, calling him her Pygmy. It is not his fault that he received far more brains than looks.”

“Perhaps better than the other way round”, Dean said. “Look at poor Lord Darnley!”

“Indeed”, his boss agreed. “Doubtless she will let the two sillies out again once her anger has cooled, and produce a sweeping and totally insincere apology to the Commons for her actions. And they will bow and scrape in terror, before the whole dance begins anew.”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**III April**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

Sixteen-year-old Diniel was an inquisitive young lad, which was usually a good thing. Usually.

“May I borrow that history book of yours, papa?” he asked.

Castiel was busy cooking, and nodded abstractly. 

“It is in our bedroom, on my bookshelf there”, he said. “You may go and get it.”

“Thank you, papa”, his son said.

“Rather him than me!” Quintus grinned once his brother had gone. “Entering the lion's den like that.”

“A interesting analogy”, Castiel said. “I suppose that your father can be a bit of an animal at times.....”

“Papa!”

Diniel came back into the room, and stared in surprise at the face his brother was pulling.

“I found it”, he said cheerfully. “And you really should tidy up in there, papa. I even found two blue ties, one either side around the bed-posts.”

His brother and sister looked at him for a moment before they both whined in horror. Diniel stared back for some time before he too got it.

“Oh Lord, that was why Father.... I am too young for this!”

Castiel just sniggered.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XII July**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa and what's-his-name,'_

Seriously, disinheriting, Dean thought crossly.

Upstairs, Castiel made a loud cough. The alpha blushed.

_'I thought that with us safely back in Plymouth, I would take the chance to write and tell you what has been happening as of late. Drake is very good at allowing his officers to include their letters in with his so they can all be dispatched on the mail coach to London. Hopefully you will get this not too long after the sixth, when I am writing it._

_As you know, we left England with the intention of frustrating the King of Spain's preparations for the great invasion fleet, or Armada as he calls it, that he is assembling against us. Of course the Queen changed her mind after licensing the whole affair, but by a lucky chance (which I suspect was not that lucky!), her counter-orders never reached us. And, the mission was an absolute and unqualified success; we have well and truly singed King Philip's beard!_

_We sailed into Cadiz harbour at the end of April, and found nearly a hundred ships there. We destroyed some thirty-seven of the enemy, and captured four ships laden with supplies. But best of all, we were able to fire the seasoned wood (5) that had been laid by for the attack. That, Drake told us, was possibly the greatest blow of all._

_We then sailed along the Portuguese coast and caused general mayhem, before striking across to the Azores to evade the ships being sent after us. Here we won another great prize; a huge treasure-ship laden with the wealth of the Americas which is now ours (well, the Queen's, but we know she always deals fairly with her brave sailors)._

_I sustained a scratch or two during the Portuguese leg of our journey but am fully recovered now, and look forward to coming home and seeing you all again. Although Drake has warned us that we have only delayed the inevitable, and that King Philip will work night and day to get his Armada ready once more._

_I trust you are not treating that poor alpha of yours too harshly, and are letting him have the occasional pie._

_Your now much richer son,_

_Jensen'._

Not after we've taken our cut of those riches”, Dean muttered mulishly.

Upstairs, Castiel coughed again. Dean glared heavenwards and rolled his eyes.

“Stop that!” came the omega's voice.

“How on earth...?”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XVIII September**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

It was Castiel's forty-fifth birthday, something that Dean viewed with mixed feelings. On the upside, his beloved mate had ordered up a ton of food, and there were at least six types of pie.

On the downside, Dean had been forbidden from eating them all that same day. And several horrible small people whom he no longer recognized as his offspring had sniggered when Castiel had orde.... asked him that.

On the upside, Castiel's parents has been unable to make the journey to see him.

On the downside, Dean had read the letter explaining why, because some cruel omega had not stopped him. Seriously, at their ages? And even worse, Lady Rebecca had sent him this story about two alpha actors who..... well, misused the stage machinery at their theatre. Ugh!

On the upside, his daughter had brought her boyfriend to the party, a tall handsome Welsh red-headed alpha called Llywelyn Davis who towered over just about anyone.

On the downside, Dean had not been allowed to Talk with the boy. And even worse, the fellow had trembled when Castiel had spoken to him. Honestly, who was the master of this house?

“We shall establish that later!”

There was no denying it. Dean Winchester, the manliest man ever to man in a manly-like manner, whined in fear.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXI December**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“It has to be Lord Howard” (6), Castiel said reasonably. “He is Lord High Admiral, after all.”

“I suppose”, Dean said. “Is there more pie?”

Castiel shook his head at him.

“There is one slice of cherry left over....”

“Good. Where is it?”

“But I am saving it for when Mary brings Llew over later. He likes pie too.”

Dean pouted.

“No pie”, he said mournfully. 

Castiel thought a word starting with the first letter of the alphabet and ending with 'dorable', but was wise enough not to say it. The one time had called Dean 'cute', the alpha had sulked for days!

Quintus came in at that moment, shivering as he took his coat off.

“I got the extra pie you sent me out for, papa”, he said. 

“Pie!” Dean exclaimed.

“Yes”, Castiel smiled. “Now Llew can have that pie and you can have the leftover slice.”

The look he got clearly suggested that he was the meanest omega in the whole word for depriving his mate of all that pie.

“Totally whipped!” Quintus muttered. “I'll tell him. This one is for you, Fa...”

Dean had already grabbed the pie from him and was disappearing into the kitchen.

“Custard in the pantry!” Castiel called after him.

“You do know that everyone jokes about how whipped he is?” Quintus said quietly. His papa smiled.

“That is all right”, he said. “He is too busy with his pie to notice!”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

Notes:  
1) A castle near the town of Oundle in Northamptonshire, about 85 miles north of London. Elizabeth hated it thereafter, and allowed it to fall into such bad repair that it eventually had to be pulled down before it fell down.  
2) Robert Cecil (b. 1563). Not the Lord Treasurer's eldest son but far and away the most able, he was at this time member of parliament for Westminster. He suffered from what is now known to be scoliosis, a sideways curvature in the spine. His elder brother Thomas inherited their father's later title Lord Burghley on the latter's death in 1598; Thomas' direct descendant William currently holds the title and is also the Marquess of Exeter.  
3) Peter Wentworth (b. 1529), then member of parliament for Northampton. A staunch Puritan, he had been a critic of the Queen's policies for over a decade by this time. Six years later he would light the blue touch-paper once too often by raising the matter of the succession, and would spent the last three years of his life in the Tower. He was cousin to the much more famous Thomas Viscount Wentworth, later the Earl of Strafford.  
4) Anthony Cope (b. 1548), then member of parliament for Banbury. Elizabeth later (1592) won him over by giving him a knighthood.  
5) Fresh water taken on sea journeys had to be kept in barrels made out of seasoned wood that had been cut down some time ago, otherwise it would quickly spoil. Drake was right; this was a heavy blow to the Armada preparations.  
6) Charles Howard (b. 1536), a cousin of the executed Duke of Norfolk. It would have been impossible for Drake to have been appointed to lead the English fleet because, Elizabeth knew, many of her leaders would only take orders from someone of noble blood. Unlike her Spanish rival however, she chose someone competent! 


	5. Cometh The Hour, Cometh The Alpha (1588)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of reckoning for England draws nigh, although for Scaden Winchester an act of kindness makes it that much nigher (and higher). What with that, a most Valiant omega and a particularly memorable sea-journey, the young alpha can almost empathize with his poor totally not-whipped father. Queen Elizabeth mulls some charters and the Great Armada approaches England, but Francis Drake still takes time to finish his game of bowls before setting off with Jensen Winchester to deal with them.

**MDLXXXVIII**  
**X February**  
**Whitehall Palace, London (England)**

Castiel leant across to his mate.

“Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly”, he muttered.

“When the Queen has that look on her face”, Dean said, “someone is in for it. And unfortunately for the clueless Mr. Osborne”, it is most likely him.”

“I am sure there is a perfectly good reason for the Mariners' Guild to have made the decision that it did”, the Queen said levelly.

There was a silence whose awkwardness eventually registered even on the gaudily-dressed man before her. Seriously, Dean thought, how did he even move under all that jewellery?

“Indeed there was”, the man said.

The Queen's look continued. Dean was sure that the temperature in the room was dropping.

“The other members did not feel inclined to let a man of such descent attain membership of our illustrious organization”, the bejewelled visitor managed.

“An organization whose charter _I_ have the power to revoke”, the Queen said. “I am fully aware that Mr. Victor Henriksen is of Dutch descent. In case you may not have noticed, sir, we are assisting that brave nation in its fight to break free of the Spanish yoke.”

“Well, yes, but....”

She silenced him with a glare. Dean noted that several courtiers shuddered.

“And I have received some disturbing reports from certain reliable sources”, the Queen said frostily, “that, whilst you were 'in your cups' you proclaimed and I quote that 'no darkie was ever gonna join our club'.”

The silence that followed that was positively painful.

“I am sure that you will be taking the opportunity to review that decision”, Elizabeth said with what was obviously a false smile. “By a curious coincidence, I shall be reviewing all the guild charters this very week. _Starting with your own.”_

The man went even paler. Dean knew that this was no idle threat; loss of their charter would hit the sea-going men very hard indeed. Worse, the Queen might even decide to grant it to some rival group, possibly forcing the likes of the idiot in front of her out of business.

“We shall be reviewing the decision tomorrow”, Mr. Osborne said quickly. “In fact, I had better leave now to set up the meeting.”

“You had better”, the Queen smiled. “Good day, sir.”

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XI February**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“It was good of Lord Cecil to help your friend Victor out like that”, Castiel said. “Although it is shameful that he should be discriminated against for something he had no control over.”

“I chanced to catch him at a good moment”, Dean said. “He had just heard about the Marquis of Santa Cruz's (1) death.”

“That is a heavy blow to his master, King Philip”, Castiel said. “The marquis was said to have never been defeated in nearly sixty years of life, an amazing achievement. I wonder who will be chosen to oversee the 'Enterprize of England' now?”

“That is the other reason Cecil was in a good mood”, Dean smiled. “Philip has chosen Alonso, the Duke of Medina Sidonia. A bureaucrat first and a soldier a poor second; he apparently tried to refuse the 'honour' only to be told that his letter would not be delivered to the king 'for his own safety'.”

“And Cecil is not worried that an organizer is now in charge of the coming Armada?” Castiel asked.

“Cecil thinks that he is a poor organizer”, Dean explained. “One of those more concerned with things being seen to be done that actually being done properly. We can only hope he proves as inefficient in his preparations for the coming storm; we shall need every advantage that we can get.”

They both knew that their second son would be back on Drake's ship for the great battle, but neither spoke of it.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**II March**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“Victor's omega son is coming over”, Castiel told his mate and eldest son that morning. “He wanted to come and thank us in person for our efforts on his behalf, but he had to hurry back to the Netherlands because his daughter was taken ill.”

“I have met Mrs. Henriksen”, Scaden said from his place at the table. “A Puritan, although she and her husband have six children. She keeps her poor mate totally whi....”

He stopped and blushed. His father was glaring at him for some reason.

“Not every pairing ends up with one partner being under the dominion of the other”, Castiel said with a smile.

“Quite right!” his husband agreed.

“Although it does make for marital harmony when each knows their place.”

And there was the Dean Pout. Fortunately it was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Scaden grinned and went to open it.

“That must be Victor's son”, Castiel said. “His name is Valiant-for-Truth.” (2)

Scaden chuckled as he reached the door and opened it.

“That's just.... oh Lord!”

Outside was a huge man, who actually had to turn a little to get through the door. Then he stood up. 

“Greetings, sirs”, he rumbled. “My name is..... what?”

Scaden was suddenly nuzzling at the man's neck. The towering omega looked momentarily confused, then wrapped two huge muscular arms around the alpha.

“Mate!” Scaden growled possessively. “Mine!”

“Only if you've got a good step-ladder!” Dean muttered.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXXI March**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

Dean did not smile at the sound of his eldest son limping painfully down the stairs. After a whirlwind romance, Scaden and Valiant had tied the knot (so to speak) and had spent the last four days in the alpha's room. Four days!

“Maybe later!” Castiel growled from across the room.

And Dean was instantly hard, damnation! Fortunately he was distracted by what was left of his eldest son limping into the room, still squeaking with pain at every step. The young alpha reached his chair, then glared at his papa.

“I put a cushion down ready for you”, Castiel said innocently.

His son glared again, but lowered himself carefully downwards.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow.... aaaah!”

“So”, Dean grinned. “What was it like climbing Mount Valiant?”

“Papa has a lot to answer for”, Scaden grumbled. “I wondered why he spent all that time beforehand talking with Val – and now I know! Father, you have my complete sympathy.” 

Castiel smiled.

“Well, I do have many years experience of keeping my alpha wh...”

Dean was glaring at him.

“Winsomely happy”, Castiel finished.

“Harrumph!”

“Scay?”

A huge dark-skinned omega appeared in the doorway, looking hungrily at his alpha mate. Scaden Winchester actually cried.

“Sorry, son”, Dean said. “Our job was just to keep the others out of the way. But I ordered you some more of Mistress MacLeod's aftercare unguent, which is good – because I think you are about to need it!”

The young alpha whined piteously, but got to his feet with another yelp of pain before trudging off to do his manly duty.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXI July**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa (and ????),'_

Dean wondered if he could move house whilst his eldest son was away on the Queen's business. Probably not; Castiel would not let him. 

Damnation, he truly was whipped!

_'We arrived in Plymouth three days ago. We would have been here sooner, but some cruel omega parent of mine gave some cruel mate a bottle of Mistress MacLeod's 'Easy Rider' Unguent, and Val wondered if it was possible to have sex whilst on horseback.'_

Dean winced as he remembered that time when Castiel had.... he had not been right for three days afterwards! And could his omega _not_ smile knowingly just then?

_'I had to stop off for a whole day at Exeter because I was so sore! Worse, Val seemed totally unaffected by the whole thing, which is just not fair. It is as bad as papa smirking when you look like he had just had his way with you. Again._

_Cecil has dispatched riders to places along the coast, so I shall be able to send you updates both regularly and promptly about how things are. There was a wonderful moment earlier today when one of Drake's commanders brought him news that the Spanish fleet was approaching Plymouth. Cool as anything, the great man quipped that they had time to finish the game of bowls he was playing at to beat the Spaniards too._

_Sadly I did not get to see Jen as he is still on board the_ Revenge _. I can see why Drake was so unruffled; the Spaniards could in truth land just about anywhere on the south coast, so they would be extremely foolish to try to batter their way into Plymouth, a port defended by a narrow entrance and guarded by two large land-forts, with the English Navy waiting for them. But we had to be ready, just in case they were that stupid._

_Cecil thinks from his sources that, despite its impressive appearance – over one hundred and thirty ships, a fearsome sight! - the great Armada is in fact primarily a transport mechanism for the Duke of Alva's troops in the Netherlands. I have to say that this seems a little odd; surely King Philip cannot hope to remove some ten thousand troops like that and not expect the Dutch to take full advantage? But then Cecil is usually right about such things._

_Jen told me some time back that the whole thing may hinge on the new design of ship that John Hawkins has introduced. Our ships are faster and much more manoeuvrable than theirs, so –_ if _he is right – we may be able to bombard them at a distance and then withdraw before they can retaliate. We shall see very soon._

_You will know from the shape of England that the Spaniards will on passing Devonshire be a little way out to sea, only nearing land again when they pass Portland Bill some seventy miles east of here. Because the roads are so terrible, Cecil has arranged for myself and Val to ride to Brixham and take a boat straight to Portland from there, which should take barely a day. I will write once the great Armada has passed the Bill._

_Yours loving (and sore!) son,_

_Scaden'_

_Postscriptum: Val has just told me that_ someone _in my family said it was quite normal for omegas in the early stages of pregnancy to demand even more sex, and that he would like to try it on the boat across Lyme Bay. Thank you_ so _much, papa!_

“I am always so helpful with advice”, Castiel muttered from across the room. “And now I feel like an early night.”

Dean was already running.

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

Notes:  
1) Alvaro Marquis de Santa Cruz (b. 1526). King Philip did not really mourn his passing as he had never liked the man, being jealous of both his success and his weak claim to the Spanish throne.  
2) Biblical and unusual names were liked by some Puritans. Praisegod Barebone (1598-1679), after whom the Barebones Parliament was named, was one such, and named his child If-Christ-Had-Not-Died-Thou-Hadst-Been-Damned Barbon. The boy grew up to become a key figure in the London insurance industry – and changed his name to Nick at the first opportunity! 


	6. Albion, Armadas - And Authors (1588-1589)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'Invincible Armada' is sent against England, but to the shock of just about everyone it is first mauled by the English ships and then decimated by late summer storms, with less than half its ships ever returning home. There are two more additions to the Winchester family, but Dean's year looks set to end very badly when Castiel picks up something terrifying.

**MDLXXXVIII**  
**XXV July**  
**Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa and your lesser half'_

Dean mused that Cecil might send his son somewhere if he asked nicely. Iceland was nice at this time of year..... or maybe that New Albion place Drake had found on the far side of the Americas.....

There was a pointed cough from the next room. The alpha sighed, and resumed his letter:

 _'Yesterday (the 23rd) we were in Portland to watch the great Armada sail by. Their commanding officer, Medina Sidonia, has at least some sense; they were formed into a giant defensive arc, like a huge bow with the ends curved towards the west. I presume (although I cannot see from the land) that the slow and poorly-armed transports are safely in the centre, and the big galleons are at the points, making it much harder for our ships to get at the former. There have been a few engagements so far, but although we have caused them some damage it seemed that we were making but little progress._

_However, that was what it seemed. Just before we left Portland, who should arrive but Jen, bearing some most interesting news. His master Drake, seeing a chance to capture a large Spanish ship and obtain much-needed supplies of gunpowder, had separated from the rest of the fleet and given pursuit. This caused some chaos as he had been leading the fleet with a night-lantern, but after some confusion I can report today that our ships are back with the enemy. But it what was Drake found on his prize, the ship Jen brought into harbour, which was so surprising. Cecil told me that whilst Medina Sidonia commanded respect amongst his officers, he was not really that efficient, being better at getting things seen to be done rather than actually being done well. And now he has been found out._

_I do not know the name of the captain whose ship was taken, but he must have been most annoyed at being left behind they way he was. So annoyed, in fact, that he gave Drake a full tour of his ship. Jen told me that we know now that not only is their ammunition of exceptionally poor quality, but even worse (or even better, from our viewpoint), their cannons are a mess. Drake even found some land cannons on the ship's decks, totally unsuitable for firing at sea, and he also noted (or had pointed out to him) that the shot on deck did not always correspond with the bores of the cannons they were next to. The Great Armada is a lot weaker than it appears._

_This discovery proved most fortuitous today, because our ships caught up with the Armada just in time to force a major engagement that prevented them from entering the relative safety of the Solent, the waterway that runs north of the Isle of Wight. Had they penetrated past Hurst Castle, we may never have winkled them out. Fortunately they have been harried long enough to be forced south of the island and are now headed, presumably, towards the Netherlands. I know it will gladden your heart that Jen has been put in charge of seeing to the captured Spanish and injured English sailors, so he will be out of danger now._

_I must end here, because some horny omega wants again. Tell Father I know all too well just why his legs are bowed!_

_Your soon-to-be-aching son,_

_Scaden'._

Dean sniggered to himself.

"I heard that!"

֍†֍†֍†֍†֍

**XXIX July**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

_'Dear Papa and your totally whipped alpha,'_

Castiel hid his smile at his mate's eye-roll.

_'Wonderful news. We have won a decisive victory off the coast of the Netherlands, and the Armada has been chased into the North Sea, battered and bruised. I do not know what they will do next, but they are in no shape to risk another engagement, and we are blocking their way back to their Dutch holdings._

_I had some fears when Medinia Sidonia reached Calais, as I could see it might be quite easy for him to engender some sort of quarrel with the French authorities there and to seize the port, giving himself a safe harbour against any bad weather. Fortunately he proved far too unimaginative, and eventually anchored his forces off the Dutch coast some way to the east, at a place called Gravelines. He had, to his credit, held his defensive formation all the way up the Channel, an impressive feat even if it did reduce his speed to that of a row-boat. But last night it all went horribly wrong for him._

_Earl Howard had, quite sensibly, proposed the use of fire-ships (1) to be sent in against the moored vessels. We would have needed quite a few of them, as even the Spaniards were not so foolish as to fail to mount some sort of defences against such a move, but Howard thought that with enough ships we might overwhelm them. He had sent for some small ships from England but they had not arrived, so Drake suggested using some of the fleet's smaller ships whilst they still had the opportunity. Eight vessels were duly set up and sent against the moored ships – and it worked most excellently. The defensive formation was broken, and many captains panicked and cut their anchors in an attempt to escape quickly. Once first light came, Howard ordered an immediate attack, with the result that the Invincible Armada was thoroughly vinced. Most of the ships were able to limp away, but they will not be giving battle again any time soon._

_There was just one downside to the victory. It looked for some time afterwards as if contrary winds might blow many of the Spaniards onto the Dutch sandbanks, where they would have surely been at the mercy of the people they have sore oppressed for so long. Doubtless they gave thanks to the Lord when the wind veered and took them into the North Sea. If I were them, I might have waited a bit first. Their only possible way home is to sail right around the British Isles to get back to Spain, as King James will be closing all his ports to them because he wants the rule of England one day. I suppose they might find succour in some of the smaller and remoter Scots ports in the Far North or the Isles, and quite possibly along the jagged coast of Ireland, but they are a broken force now. The Pope and all Catholic Europe will be seething!_

_Ah. I must go now as my omega mate has told me I have spent long enough at my writing and that he wants..... well, kindly tell papa that I am in two minds about his telling Val about that thing with the ties was a good thing or not. Most of me says no, but one part says hell yes!_

_Your shortly to be deflowered (again) son,_

_Scaden'._

“Totally whipped!” Dean smirked.

There was a pointed cough from the next room. The alpha shuddered.

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**IX August**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“I still do not see why the Queen needs to go all the way down to Tilbury to make a speech to her army”, Quintus said. “Surely the danger is past now?”

“Well past”, his papa agreed. “The 'Fortunate' Armada – I would wager King Philip wishes he had chosen some other name now – passed Edinburgh last week, showing every intention of trying to go all the way around Britain to get home.”

“Then why....?”

“Because monarchy is as much about perceptions as it is about reality”, Castiel exclaimed. “That is why the Queen is so firm when it comes to weeding out corrupt judges and spendthrift officials. People know that no system can be perfect, but if they believe that the person at the top is at least _trying_ to keep on top of matters, then they are much more amenable when it comes to extra taxes for things like wars and new ships. Perception is as important as reality at the end of the day.”

“Cecil is worried about King James on those same grounds”, Dean agreed. “He is rather lazy when it comes to the administrative side of being a king. And unlike Elizabeth, he will have the added disadvantage of being a foreigner when he becomes king.”

“You think that he will be king some day?” Quintus asked.

“He is more than thirty years the Queen's junior”, Castiel said, “and to give him his due, he has behaved honourably over the Armada.”

“He ought to have done”, Dean said, “given the subsidies he gets from us every year!”

“Cynical alpha!” Castiel smiled.

“'Cynical' is a seven-letter word starting with a 'c'”, Dean said tartly. “Like 'correct'!”

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**VI September**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

“I cannot believe you are pregnant at forty-one!” Dean grinned. “Still, at least number seven means you and Luke will be catching us up at last.”

His brother pulled a bitchface (the rare Number 4, Dean noted).

“I am so sore!” he complained. “Even Mistress MacLeod's potions do not give me much relief.”

“Some alphas are quite insatiable, I know”, Castiel sighed in sympathy, ignoring an indignant huff from both alphas in the room. “You know you can stay here until the two of you find a new home; I suppose fire is an inevitable part of living in a mostly wooden town.”

“Cas has purchased 'Kansas House' next door for Scay and Val”, Dean said, “so we have plenty of room. You might even have a race to see if you or Val pops first!”

“Do not mention popping!” his brother grumbled. “Otherwise I shall go into an omega conclave with your mate, and we shall share ways of making our alphas suffer even more.”

Both Lucifer and Dean looked horrified.

“I'll show you your rooms”, Dean said. “We have put Mark next to you for his sins; I hope he has some good ear-plugs.”

“Do not worry if he has not”, Demetrius piped up. “In this household, we have learnt the hard way to keep large stocks of the things!”

Seriously, Dean wondered, why had they had so many children?

Then he caught his mate giving him another look, and trembled.

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**XXIX December**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

Scaden Winchester yelped in shock as he suddenly found himself very wet.

“I thought that might do the trick!” Mistress Barnes grinned as she looked down at him. “Your mate has good timing, delaying his firstborn's arrival until just after his uncle had popped. I did tell you that your uncle had had an omega, but you may not remember that having fainted.”

“I did not faint!” Scaden said crossly, pulling himself up. “I was just....”

He found his mate, papa, father and Mistress Barnes all looking knowingly at him. About the only one not trying to make him feel like a complete tool was the little mite in Val's arms. 

Scaden may have coughed in a way that an uncharitable person might have maliciously interpreted as a whine.

“A healthy boy”, Castiel smiled. “And our first alpha grandson.”

The others smiled at Dean's slow reaction.

“Your in-laws were right about not having the g-word mentioned”, he snipped. “I am still young at heart.”

“And in body”, Castiel smiled. “I remember last night....”

“Whatarewegoingtocallhim?” Scaden said quickly, cutting into his papa's conversation before he became even more traumatized.

“I thought.... Albion?” (2) Val suggested.

“From the old name for England”, Castiel smiled. “Suitable for this year of victories. We shall leave you with your son, Scay.”

“Thank you, papa.”

“Just do not disturb us for the rest of the day”, Castiel smiled darkly. “I need to make sure my alpha is still young enough to.... perform his marital obligations.”

“Papa!”

His parents were gone, Dean almost running in his eagerness. Scaden sighed heavily. Really, was there some law that one generation had to traumatize the next?

“If there is”, he muttered to the tiny alpha in his mate's arms, “you're next, my boy!”

His huge omega mate looked pointedly at him. Scaden shuddered. Why was it so damn cold in this room?

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**XXXI December**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

Dean's vision was still blurry after he came round. He was getting too old for panties, damnation!

His mate was sat across the room, writing rapidly. Dean stared at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?” the alpha yawned.

“Remember that story Mother sent us just before Christmas?” Castiel said, putting down his quill.

Dean gulped. Ugh, the one about the alpha rower who took the wrong potion, and had to fuck his way through his seven alpha team-mates and the alpha coach. Seriously, his mother-in-law needed help!

“Unfortunately”, he muttered. “Why?”

“It inspired me”, Castiel said brightly. “I thought that I might take up writing myself.”

He kept it together for an impressive forty-eight seconds despite the alpha's look of absolute horror which he was doing a poor effort at concealing. Then he collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“Mean omega!”

Castiel smirked dangerously.

“Or I could fit that leather harness with the unbreakable cock-ring on you, and spend the whole first day of the New Year – including our trip to church – trying to make you break it?”

Dean gulped. He wouldn't dare..... would he?

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**MDLXXXIX**  
 **I January**  
 **Winchester House, London (England)**

He dared!

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Notes:  
1) This tactic was doubly effective because the Spanish knew that Elizabeth had at her court an inventor who had recently come up with a superior fireship, the hellburner. In these vessels carefully placed gunpowder caused a series of explosions and firing of cannons to make regular fireships much more effective. In fact the man in question was working on something else entirely – but the Spanish did not know that!  
2) The ancient name for the island of Britain, meaning white as in the cliffs those approaching from the narrow crossing to Kent always saw. 


End file.
